What The Mind Can Conceive
by Sorrow Reminisce
Summary: The basement of Manticore is a living catacomb for the lost soldiers. The ones who didn't measure up, who didn't fit the mould. Within one concrete cage lives a small boy, dragged away from his unit because he wasn't strong enough to make the grade.


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**What The Mind Can Conceive**

**Written for Linda Eastman**

**by Sorrow**

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_The basement of Manticore is a living catacomb for the lost soldiers. The ones who didn't measure up, who didn't fit the mould. Within one concrete cage lives a small boy, dragged away from his unit because he wasn't strong enough to make the grade. Most thought that he had been executed and autopsied. But for the sake of fan fiction, let's just say they were wrong. This is his story..._

* * *

It was cold in the room they had put him in. Even though his body temperature ran higher than the average human, he still shivered desperately beneath the thin grey army issue blanket. He was surprised they had allowed him this much. A blanket, a hard wooden bench to lie upon, a small dark concrete room. It was more than he had expected. 

His entire body ached, he felt as if someone had forced him into one of those great big machines he dimly remembered seeing as the guards had carried him down here. The machines which clothing was shoved into, and left to churn around and around and around in. The convulsions always left him feeling this way. He guessed in a sense, he _had_ been pushed into one of those machines. The way in which his body would shake and jitter about helplessly, he could have been a pair of combat pants inside one of those Churners.

Churner. That was it's name. Or so he decided. He liked to name things. All of his unit did. It made them feel special, and it answered a lot of the questions that they dare not ask their stony-faced guards. And if nothing else, it filled those long long hours when serious thought threatened to weasel its way into their minds. 

You had to be careful not to think too seriously about things. You weren't allowed to own your own thoughts. You were only meant to follow command. And never, _ever_ question the world you lived in. 

But down here, he couldn't help but think. What else was there to do? The only contact he had with _anyone, _was the hand that appeared once or twice a day to shove food through the grate in the door. That hand was the one thing that stopped him from believing Lydecker had forgotten about him altogether.

He knew where he was. His brother had told stories about this place many times. He remembered those stories all too well. And how they had filled him with such fear. For some reason, he had always been defective. Never strong enough, never fast enough. And it had only been a matter of time before his sisters and brothers could no longer hide this from the guards. Therefore, he had always known that one day, he would be sent down to the basement. And once there, he would be set upon by ravenous Nomolies. 

The unit had been led into this dark, damp underworld by Lydecker on a few occasions, a lesson designed to show them what their fate might be if they were to ever mess up and disappoint him. He remembered the Nomolie that had pressed his face to the bars, teeth bared in a crazed snarl. That image had served to haunt them during practically every night since.

Fortunately, the reality of this place was a little different than the memory of that occasion, and the stories Ben had told. Although, he could understand his brother's mistake. So far, no Nomolies had come to claim him, although, he heard them sometimes, crying out in the night. They seemed afraid, confused, lost. Not the dreaded monsters he had feared, but rather forgotten soldiers. Just like him. 

Some of the Nomolies he had even given names. Down the corridor, somewhere, lived Screecher. Aptly named because that was all it ever seemed to do. He wondered what Screecher looked like? Perhaps he was tall and skinny, and incredibly pale. That was how he imagined a screech would look if it were to ever become something more than just a sound. 

And then there was Howler. Howler was surely the opposite in looks to Screecher. A howl was a large, full sound. Therefore, the Nomolie responsible for such a racket was surely a large beast, and covered in fur he imagined. Often during the night, he was woken by this creature's sorrowful wails. Like the screeches, these howls used to frighten him. But that's why he gave them names. They couldn't frighten him if he could pretend they were his friends. Right?

He was weak of body, but the isolation of this basement had taught him to be strong of mind. Maybe one day, Lydecker would come back for him. And then he could prove that he was worthy of being allowed out into the light once more?

* * *

When he was first brought here, he had believed this concrete cell with its rough, damp walls and cold, cold floor, would drive him mad. Between the ghoulish sounds that would go on out there in the darkness beyond his door, and the ever-present loneliness, he wasn't sure if perhaps he would wake one day to find he had turned into the very creatures Ben had made up stories about.

During this early period of his segregation, he would sometimes cry in the darkness, too terrified to move for fear that _they _would sense him, and come for him. But rather than eat him, they make him into one of _them_. Maybe that's what the creatures down here had once been? Kids who didn't measure up? 

As he sobbed quietly on his bench one day, sure that _this_ would be the night when he'd fall asleep, only to wake and find his skin had turned to scales, a voice spoke to him through the gap in his door. It was a coarse voice, like the sound of gravel crunching beneath a dozen pairs of boots. As the voice broke into his sobs, he had backed into a corner of the room, and risen shakily to his feet. Determined that if this was a Nomolie come to take him away, he would go with honour. And dry eyes.

But the voice had spoken soothing words through the grate, once he was able to hear them over the maddening thumps of his own terrified heart. The words were gentle and pacifying, beneath the gruff voice. The whispers urged him to come forward, and not be afraid. He was promised that the screams and shrieks beyond the walls of his cell, were nothing to be frightened of. 

As much as he still held Ben's horrifying stories fresh in his mind, he had wanted to believe this voice. Most of all, he wanted a friend. And so, he crept hesitantly towards the door, remembering the lessons taught to him in what seemed a life time ago. Lessons about courage, duty, discipline. And lessons about knowing your enemy.

At the door, the voice materialised into a face. A face that would have frightened him were it not for the gentle smiling eyes that peered in. Kindness was an expression he had never known from anyone except his siblings. But his instincts responded to the compassion he saw before him, the voice through the door reached out to the loneliness he had felt chipping away at his very self, and pushed it back. Promising him hope at last.

* * *

That was a long time ago now. Well, perhaps. There was no way of distinguishing night from day down here. Weeks could be stretching into months, and months into years. He had no idea. That was life within the timeless mausoleum that he had come to call home.

Now the voice on the other side of the door had become a regular part of his life. It had gifted him with a pattern, a steady routine to bring some order back into his world. And when the guards forgot to bring food, the voice would come and with it, a large hairy hand would appear through the grate. It was always a hand that fed him. He wondered sometimes if he'd ever again be able to see a complete body all at once? Or would it only ever be shown to him in bits and pieces through the grate in the door? It was one of the many curiosities that passed through his mind at times.

The voice knew things about the outside - about his siblings. And it would tell him of their training sessions, explaining that it knew a secret way to view them, without the guards knowing. Such secrecy was necessary, because the voice, and the large face and hairy hand that accompanied it, was not meant to exist. 

That was such a wonder to his young, naive mind. And it explained why this voice could wander freely down here, and bring comfort to the forgotten soldiers. Because in reality, it didn't even exist.

There were times when he wondered if he really _had_ gone mad. If the voice wasn't real, except in his head, how could he be the strong sane soldier he needed to be in order to escape this place? And if this voice that he was _certain_ he could hear, didn't actually exist, then how could he be sure _he_ did? Maybe he was just a memory inside someone else's head. Kept alive by existing within one of Ben's stories perhaps? 

Such a thought frightened him at first. But sooner rather than later, it gave him something to chew over. A question of philosophy to turn over inside his mind, and wittle away the empty hours. And his musing in turn created a new possibility to explore - being that the confinements of his concrete cage inhibited him from being able to do anything else.

* * *

Lydecker had once asked, "If a tree falls in the forest, and there is no one around to hear it, does it make any noise?" 

Along with his siblings, they had puzzled for hours over that one, trying to work out exactly what the question was supposed to mean. At last, he had reached a decision on their behalf. 

No. 

If a tree fell in a forest, and no one was around to hear it, it would not make a sound. 

Lydecker had looked at him for a long, careful moment, a moment in which he almost felt his conviction waver. But he stood as tall as he could, and steeled his eyes to match those of his Director's. (Though, he was careful not to look defiant.) And finally, the man they all feared, had uttered one small word. 

"Why?"

They lived within a forest, here in this place called Manticore, and he had learnt enough about his surroundings, to know that dead trees were called logs. And once a tree fell, that's what it became. A log. 

A tree falling over, regardless of whether a person was within range to hear it or not, would inevitably become a log on its way to the ground. How so? Because at the point where the tree tilts sufficiently, so that it cannot recover, it becomes a log. 

A tree never truly falls. Only a log does. 

Therefore, the answer would have to be 'no'.

For the longest moment, he thought Lydecker was going to order the guards to take him away, and berate him for such an absurd response - or worse. But instead, the Director had looked at him thoughtfully, and informed him that he had a philosopher's mind. And then, strangest of all, Lydecker had smiled for the barest moment, and told him it could be his knack for analytical thinking that could save him, even if his body _was_ weak and pitiful. And indeed, it had for a while there brought him some time.

* * *

Thinking of this riddle now, he wondered how it could be adapted somewhat, to apply to his current abode. If he lived here in this basement, but nobody knew of his existence - just like the voice that spoke to him through the door, would he really be here? Or could he make himself be somewhere else? Crazy thoughts. Indeed, they were crazy thoughts.

There was one thing he could thank Lydecker for, and that was for the useful little mantra's he had taught his 'kids'. Such phrases supplied hours of careful consideration for a small boy, locked away within a basement, and with little else to do. 

One of his favourite phrases was, "what the mind can conceive, the body can achieve". As time wore on, he thought about these words over and over, until they had engraved their own little niche into his head. The voice outside of his door was a source of inspiration in many ways, and he decided eventually, that if its owner could escape the confinements of a concrete cage, then so could he. At least, once he figured out _how._

* * *

_What the mind can conceive..._

The key to achieving the impossible, lay in conditioning your mind to believe without a shred of doubt, that it could accomplish the set task. The niggling voice of doubt _had_ to be smothered. 

Therefore it was time to utilise the training his unit had received since time immemorial, in the constructive use of mental imagery. It was a skill that even he had excelled in, as all of them had the ability to recall the smallest details of the faintest memories. Therefore reconstructing them inside their minds was never a difficult task to accomplish.

Each day, he would take an erect sitting position on his bench and calm the steady chatter of words inside his mind. Taking steady inhalations with slightly longer exhalations, he would regulate his breathing, finally slipped into a calming, subconscious pattern. With his eyes open, he would picture a memory from the upstairs world. Then he would close his eyes and recreate each image of the scene inside his mind.

It was the memory of his unit gathered around Ben while he made shadows dance across the walls, that he loved the most. He could recall every awe-filled smile of his siblings as the winged creatures they had often seen in the forest, made their way over the catch-phrase posters that served as stoical decorations on their walls. 

Max's serious, brooding face would lighten and transform during Ben's performance. Even Zack would drop his ever present frown and allow a rare grin to cross his face. And Eva... she would stifle laughter and nudge him playfully. She was always the one to rouse them out of bed and demand Ben put on the show for them. Of course, he could never say no to her. Who could? 

Falling easily into the visualisation, his somatic responses would kick in first. Sensing the presence of those around him... the mattress they sat upon... the sheets that were softer than the coarse blanket he was now used to... he would steadily feel the room take on sustenance, as if he were really there with them.

_The body can achieve... _

Weeks most likely slipped by, so he would presume. But the exercises grew easier and easier, and whether or not he really _was_ escaping the concrete cage, he didn't care. Because at least in his mind, it _seemed _that he was sharing in his siblings lives once more. Without fear of rebuke, he could be a bystander rather than a participant as they carried out their daily training. Never again would he have to fear failure. He was much like the voice beyond his door. Able to slip in and out of any nook or cranny. After all, how could he fall, if he wasn't a tree?

* * *

The pattern of his existence became a comfortable one. Between the gruff, steady voice beyond the door, and the 'visits' with his siblings, he no longer feared loneliness. Life within his concrete cage became less of a prison, and more of a sanctuary. He knew that he had a far better deal than his siblings did. After all, he was free.

For long hours, he would sit on his bench and escape his confinements by slipping into the visions within his mind. The guards came less and less now, but his friend would always make sure he never went hungry, and in time slipped another blanket in through the bars of the grate. It was the voice that would rouse him from the upstairs world, and remind him that his physical body needed nourishment too. Though he hoped that in time, that would change too.

Time slipped by... the guards forgot about him... and he was content in the fact that he was gradually ceasing to exist... 

* * *

The deciding factor in how long he would continue to live like this, came on the night that he watched his siblings escape. From the shadows he cheered for them as they burst through the window and dissolved into the night. Although, he was blissfully unaware of the tragic event which had triggered them to take such drastic action.

As he had stood at the smashed window like the apparition he was, and laughed with glee as a dozen of his brothers and sisters achieved the freedom he had found for himself long ago, he felt a presence behind him. It ran through him like a cold patch of air on a warm day, and came to a rest beside him. Pulling his eyes away from the snowy winter night, he turned to find himself looking into a pair of clear blue eyes that amazingly, could see him. They could truly _see_ him!

The girl smiled, and he returned the expression, feeling suddenly shy and overwhelmed by happiness all at once. Of course, he knew who she was, he just wondered, why wasn't she out there, with them?

Stepping forward, Eva took his hands in her own, and he felt the warmth of the contact. The first contact he'd had with someone in such a long time... Well, so he presumed. Time was, after all, a thing that tended to slip by either quickly or slow, depending on the amount of fun you were having.

"Why didn't you go with them?" His voice whispered down the corridor like a lingering echo, and he marvelled at the sound.

"I wasn't supposed to. They would never have left otherwise." 

Just the way he remembered it, her voice was soft and clear, she spoke with the conviction of one who believed without doubt that her words were true.

"But why?" He was confused, both as to why she could see him, and why she wasn't following the freedom of their siblings.

"Because, someone needed to give them a reason to go. And besides, I couldn't leave you behind."

He thought about this for a moment, wondering what philosophical words would present themselves to accompany this particular puzzle. 

"But now you'll never be free!" The thought saddened him. She deserved freedom just as much as they did, but now she would be stuck here. Forever.

"Of course I'm free. We both are." She smiled softly, her eyes lighting up as she did so. "Besides, someone had to be the one to tell you."

"Tell me what?" What news could be so important, that she'd sacrifice her freedom to tell him? He couldn't understand. 

"That it's time to move on Jack. You've achieved more than any of us ever will. You found freedom within yourself. The others out there... they'll be lucky to ever get that far."

He stared at her, unable to think of how to respond. Had he really managed to accomplish something - to prove he wasn't the defect Lydecker thought him to be? Could it be true?

"Well... how do I move on? Where do I go?"

Holding up his hand, to remind him she still held it, Eva skipped backwards, an excited smile on her face as for the first time, she experienced what it really felt like to be nothing more than a nine year old child - without the responsibility of being a soldier. 

"I guess we'll find out. Together."

Together. A word he had almost forgotten could exist. Feeling Eva's own excitement creep into his own mind, he grinned at her. Never would he fear being alone, never would he fear being forgotten, never would he have to walk these corridors within his mind again. 

Nodding towards the window with its broken glass, Eva raised an eyebrow. "Ready?"

Jack nodded enthusiastically. As they jumped through the window together and hit the snow that was not in the least bit cold, he knew that they were going to find freedom at last. Just like the others. Only, they were going to take the much easier route to get there.

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End file.
